Cure
by Samantha Bridges
Summary: Just a little HouseCameron piece of fluff. Nothing too serious for my first venture into the fandom. R&R, please.


**Fandom: **House, MD  
**Title: **Cure  
**Rating: **M (adult situations)  
**Summary: **Cameron/House Established Relationship  
Cameron needs a release after a very long and difficult day at work.  
**Disclaimer: **House, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, and Cameron are not mine, seeing as they belong to David Shore or Fox or someone else like that with a lot more power, influence, and money than me. No copyright infringement is intended and I am simply borrowing them for a little while.

* * *

_We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.  
- Sir Thomas Browne_

_**Cure**_

She was in the kitchen when the front door opened, admitting House. She watched the pot and listened to his arrival. The backpack by the door, the helmet on the couch. Heavy steps passing as he went for the bathroom. Toilet, sink, his return; entering the kitchen and approaching her.

'Bad day?'

'Long day.'

Cameron looked into the pot of boiling water on the stove, steam billowing up into her face.

'So you're dealing with it by trying to scald yourself?'

She ignored him, judging the boil, hand on the box of pasta ready to dump it in when the boil was just right. The steam was comforting. Not hot enough by the time it reached her face to scald her. She was overdue for a facial anyway. In went the pasta, the box set back on the counter. He was watching her, the tension in her posture, in every deliberate move.

'It's a bad day if you're making mac and cheese from a box.'

'You like it, don't complain. If you want something else then you should get home first and make dinner.'

She was snapping at him. She faintly realized that she was taking out her frustration at herself on him. She heard the fridge door open, the clink of a bottle, and the fridge closed. Retreating steps, leaving her alone in the kitchen. The pot began to boil over, forcing her to reach over and turn down the temperature of the burner. She heard footsteps again, coming up behind her.

'Allison.'

She sighed, stared at the retreating bubbles in the pot. 'What?'

'Forget dinner.'

She didn't look up. 'Greg, I'm not in the mood.'

'Forget dinner.'

She felt his hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing firmly into her muscles. She let him work her shoulders, wincing when he found a knot.

'What do you do all day to make you so stressed?'

'Deal with you.'

She got an inelegant snort in reply, but he continued to knead her shoulders. She closed her eyes and felt her head droop. 'Hold on.' she told him, reaching over the pot to shut off the burner.

'Good, I was wondering how long it would take you.'

Allison allowed herself to be pointed out of the kitchen, across the living room, and seated herself on the piano bench, one leg on either side, waiting. House seated himself behind her and carefully lifted her hair out of the way, letting the silky strands fall forward around her face. He began again, making slow circles on her back with the heels of his hands. Incrementally he increased pressure as Cameron let her head hang forward. She let out a sigh of contentment, feeling the stress she'd been building up begin to release.

'Since when are you so nice?' she asked, gasping a little as his long fingers found a knot in her neck and began to work on it.

'I can't be nice?'

'Usually you have a motive. Are you trying to get something from me, Greg?'

She could hear the smile in his voice. 'I can be nice just to be nice, Allison. And only if you're willing.'

'Ha, I knew there was motive.'

'Whatever.' The fingers slowed their work and slid down her arms, finding her hands and lacing his fingers with hers. She didn't offer resistance as he wrapped their arms around her, drawing her back to lean against him.

'Long day?' he asked in her ear, breath stirring her hair.

'Bad day.'

'Want to talk about it?'

'Not now.'

'Can we move to someplace more comfortable, then?'

'Sure.'

Moments later they were situated on the couch, House seated with his feet up on the coffee table, Allison lying with her head in his lap. Long fingers brushing her hair, her forehead, soothing her. He didn't turn on the TV like he normally did when they both relaxed on the couch. He didn't even turn on the stereo. She just lay there, aware of his eyes watching her, watching his fingers, waiting for that moment to come. And then it did come, and she recounted the diagnosis too late, the pained looks from the patient's family, the angry demands to know why she hadn't done more.

'Because there was nothing more you could do.'

A shift, moving to lay flat, looking up at him. 'I know.' But she didn't accept.

She saw the reciprocal grief in his eyes. House had a soul, she had learned, and he kept that knowledge locked away where very few could see it. He worked better seemingly detached. Clinical. Harsh. She'd seen the aftermath before, of losing a patient, of the perceived failure of his job.

His palm on her forehead, rough like sandpaper. He washed his hands too many times a day, like they all did. It was a comfort that reminded her that she was human. She raised a hand and wiped at the tears that had escaped while she was vulnerable. Sometimes she wondered why they couldn't live forever, why she couldn't save them all.

'I need to forget.'

'You need to remember.'

He remembered all of them. He knew every death, and every life. Life needed to be celebrated, death needed to be remembered. And you had to keep moving on.

Allison rolled over and pushed herself up, pausing a moment and brushing her hair back over her shoulders. House took his feet off the table as Cameron straddled his lap, taking his face in her hands. She needed life. She needed to remember. She needed him.

He was warm and inviting, and he held onto her as she kissed him, drawing her to him, into him. He needed her as much as she needed him. His hands combed through her hair, fingertips pressed to her scalp as she trailed kisses down, her breath warm against his neck. He didn't want to let her go, but to get to where they needed to be he had to. Gently lifting her head to look into her eyes, making sure that this was what she wanted.

What she needed, her eyes insisted. She backed away tentatively, standing, waiting for him. She followed behind, close, afraid to let him get to far away.

The door was closed by mutual unspoken agreement. House was quickly out of his button down and tee shirt when she drew her nails along his back. Turning to her, drawing her close, sliding his hands under her shirt. She sighed, forehead against his neck and shoulder, balancing him. Her shirt came off, forcing her away, her bra following. Rough thumbs softly skimmed her nipples, Allison tilting her head back, eyes closed. House bent his head and lay a kiss in the hollow of her throat, felling her give a hum of satisfaction. Her hands were on his hips, fingers between the jeans and his skin.

She helped him out f his jeans and underwear, silently pointing him to the bed, where he waited while she removed her slacks and panties. They didn't bother with the lights as she climbed into bed, straddling his hips and leaning forward, pressing her body against his as she kissed him. Long fingers encircling her waist as she sat back up, trailing her nails along his chest and stomach. House kept his hands there as Cameron situated herself, taking him in a long stroke, her head back and biting her lip as if she were afraid to let herself enjoy this.

His hands slid up from her waist, cupping her breasts as she set their rhythm. She locked eyes with him, leaning forward and bracing her hands against his shoulders. He grunted and let his hands move downward again, directing her from her hips, earning a low moan as he thrust into her. She staring at him, biting the inside of her lip, so afraid that what she is doing is wrong. As she loses concentration he takes over, slowing the rhythm, feeling her body press against his as she lowers herself to capture his mouth again. He tastes copper and salt, the result of her desperate attempt to evade joy.

House lets go of her waist, hands tangling in Allison's hair, forcing her to really look at him as she pulls away again. She's moving against him, building the rhythm again, as he tried to communicate that it was okay. She needs to remember, but she needs to live.

Long fingers skim her boy, stroking those places he had learned would bring her closer. A sigh, a moan, he stroked her, building her to climax. He had to close his eyes, trying to prevent his own, as she finally began to respond to his ministrations. Allison took his hands and placed them back on her hips, guiding him, guiding herself, head back as she breathed shallow and fast.

She didn't scream when the release came, he listened to her small cries in the room, though, as she closed around him. He continued the rhythm, prolonging her climax, as long as he was able to, before his own shout of release met hers. He shuddered, and slowly she lowered herself, laying against him, face buried in the crook between his neck and shoulder, her breath warm and moist on his skin.

At some point Cameron moved over, laying beside Greg, looking at him as she kept a hand against his chest. He was brushing her hair from her face, fingers staying there and wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb. She moved closer, curling herself in his embrace, eyes closed as he told her something. House kissed the top of her head, fingers still combing through her hair as they slowly drifted in the afterglow. She rolled over as she heard his breathing deepen, spooning against him and tugging the sheets up over their bodies. She slept without dreams until the next dawn, when she was reminded to live again.


End file.
